Archangel Evolution

by David Estes

  Now, her gut was telling her that something was wrong. She knew without a doubt in her mind that something terrible had happened.

  Chapter Four

  An hour earlier.

  Despite all that had happened—from the kidnapping of his parents and their subsequent rescue, to Taylor’s evolution to an angel and her destruction of most of the Archangel Council—the daily grind of the Great War went on. Most of the soldiers had heard rumors of the events that had taken place on the Warrior’s Plateau, but few of them knew the details.

  The daily battles continued as scheduled; angels and demons fought—and died—while the real fight was being fought behind closed doors, in the minds of their leaders.

  Gabriel Knight yearned to fight again. Now was the time to strike, while the Archangel Council was in ruins, while Dionysus doubted himself, while they had a chance. For once, Clifford, the head of the Eldership of the demons, agreed with him. He said they were developing a plan, but that Gabriel needed to be patient.

  He ran a hand through his wavy, sandy blond hair in frustration. Gabriel’s request to fight in the day’s battle had been rejected. Clifford had said he would have a much larger role to play in the War, and risking his life in a skirmish was out of the question. He could only watch from afar as his best friend, Sampson—an angel—and his demon girlfriend, Kiren, marched into battle.

  He checked his watch. There were only thirty minutes until he had to meet Taylor. Because the flight to the University of Trinton, or UT, would take more than seven hours even at angel speed, one of Taylor’s demon guards agreed to teleport back to the Lair—the demon’s cave network that housed the demon army—and then teleport Gabriel to UT’s campus.

  High atop a cliff outside the Lair, Gabriel waited impatiently for the battle to begin. The opposing armies were completely out on the battlefield now and awaiting the signal for the clash to begin. With his ultra-powerful angel vision he could see Sampson hovering in the air, flanked by at least two dozen other angel fighters. Sampson’s bright, white shock of hair was hidden beneath a sturdy helmet, but Gabriel could still easily recognize him. Like a sore thumb, Sampson’s shorter, bowling-ball body stuck out amongst his taller, leaner comrades. Compared to his bull-like frame, everyone else almost looked fragile.

  It was the first battle where a significant number of angels would fight on the side of the demons. They would be considered traitors by the angel warriors, and especially by Dionysus. The angel leader would likely be seething in the Command Center. Gabriel wouldn’t have been surprised if Dionysus—known for his bad temper—charged from the mountain in a fit of rage, attempting to kill the angel traitors himself.

  Below Sampson, his demon girlfriend, Kiren, popped in and out of view rapidly, like a magician performing a series of awe-inspiring disappearing acts. Compared to Sampson, Kiren looked thinner than a bean pole, although in reality her muscles were well-toned. Her short, punk-styled hair was orange today, although it changed color regularly.

  Gabriel couldn’t help but to chuckle to himself as he remembered the last time Sampson and Kiren went into battle together. When Sampson was injured early in the contest, Kiren was forced to rescue him, thus adding a bruised ego to his damaged body. His body had healed much faster than his ego, and behind closed doors Sampson had told Gabriel that he was going to make up for his poor performance in the battle today. Gabriel couldn’t wait to see him try.

  Sweat pooled in the center of Gabriel’s back, but it was not from the hot, sunny day. Rather, it was in anticipation of the action. Action that he desperately wished he could be a part of.

  From somewhere at the demons’ end of the valley a horn sounded, clear and loud and ceremonious, and was quickly answered by a similar blast from the angels’ side. The battle had begun.

  With a flash of light, the first angel light-orb was fired, a massive pulse of energy that arced towards the demon army, until it was stopped in midflight by a well-aimed ball of fire set loose by a demon defender. The resulting impact was deafening, and filled the blue sky with an exquisite array of colors, whose beauty was marred only by the circumstances under which they were created.

  Despite the forecast for clear skies and sun, a freak thunderstorm moved in as if by magic. For once, it wasn’t the forecast that was wrong; rather, the demons had used their ability to control the weather to darken the skies, giving them a distinct advantage as angels relied on the power of light for most of their attacks. Giant spotlights flicked on throughout the battlefield—it was the angels’ tactical response to the lightless skies.

  Despite the smog-black skies, roaring thunderclaps, and icicles of lightning that filled the atmosphere, not a single drop of rain wetted the ground. While the demons preferred to fight in darkness, they also preferred to fight dry.

  The scene rapidly became a spectacular lights, lasers, and fireworks display, although each magnificent color was filled with death. Fireballs charged through the legions of angels, while light-orbs pierced demon armor. Demon fire-swords clashed with angel light-swords, with each blow sounding like the beating of a bass drum. The battle was typical, neither side giving an inch or applying any unusual tactics.

  Then everything changed.

  The angels’ horn sounded mid-fight, which Gabriel had never heard before. Something was wrong.

  It was a signal.

  Despite having heard the same horn hundreds of times before, the blast sounded ominous, dangerous, yet mellifluous at the same time. Gabriel squinted, his already incredible eyesight becoming further magnified—he was trying to see how the angel forces would react to the horn.

  Like a flock of birds, the entire angel army lifted off the ground, at first leaping high into the air, and then using their powerful wings to propel them further skywards. In formation, they began to retreat. What the hell? Gabriel thought. Dionysus was a lot of things, but he wasn’t the type to run from a battle, unless the dangers outweighed the potential rewards.

  Something was wrong.

  Deadly wrong.

  But what? As he watched the angel army soar back towards their hideaway, Gabriel puzzled over the question.

  The demon army seemed confused, unsure of whether to chase their fleeing enemy, stand their ground, or retreat. Before the demon generals had an opportunity to make a decision, the entire angel army changed course again, stopping abruptly in the air and turning back towards the eastern fringe of the battlefield.

  It was the area currently occupied by Sampson and his demon-friendly angels, who had been given the nickname Hell’s Angels. In Dionysus’s warped mind, these angels would only ever be known as The Traitors. And he was targeting them.

  Gabriel held his breath and could only watch as the mass of winged enemies crashed into Hell’s Angels with rabid fury, slashing through them with ease. Despite the rapidity of the demon response—they realized the situation and took action, teleporting into the air to defend their exposed brethren—it was too late. Sampson and his squad fell from the sky, having been torn, slashed, blasted, and trashed.

  In the chaos that ensued, bodies crashed into bodies as the demons attempted to catch the fallen angels, but mostly just got in each other’s ways. Some of Hell’s Angels crashed into the earth, some were caught by demons, and others landed on fallen demons.

  Having successfully completed their task, the angel army took advantage of the confusion and carnage to perform a real retreat and escape back into the safety of their mountain refuge.

  The entire event took about eight seconds.

  Gabriel leapt from the cliff, his wings bursting instinctively with a slight pop, and then flew to where he had seen Sampson go down. He landed with a solid thud and pushed his way through the hordes of demons that had gathered amongst the injured. At least he hoped they were merely injured. He didn’t let himself consider the alternative.

  As he forced his way through the last circle of gawkers, he saw that Kiren was kneeling beside her boyfriend, her head tilted to allow her ear
to rest on his lips. She was listening for breathing. She looked up, her eyes wild with panic, and said, “It’s there, but very faint. He needs immediate help.”

  “Take me with you,” Gabriel said.

  Nodding, Kiren clutched Gabriel’s hand and placed her other hand on Sampson’s chest. The world twisted upside down and sort of sideways, as Gabriel felt himself being transported through space. He had teleported a few times before, but still wasn’t used to it; flying was always his preference if he had a choice.

  When the whirlwind stopped, they reappeared in a small room, next to a bed. Typical medical equipment beeped and droned along the edges of the space. Gabriel recognized it as a room in the medical wing within the Lair. He could hear shouts, screams, and cries outside the open door—the sounds of death resounded throughout the facility.

  Kiren reached down and scooped up Sampson’s bulky frame as if he weighed no more than a feather, and set him down on the bed. “Medic!” she yelled to whoever might be listening.

  A shadowy woman in a black lab coat appeared across the bed. She hadn’t used the door—there was no time for formalities. “Patient’s condition?” she said simply.

  The words rushed out of Kiren, no dams or rocks to slow them: “Multiple slash wounds, at least a couple of which penetrated his chest plate…Scorch marks on his body indicate he was hit by several light orbs…Breathing, but barely…Heartbeat is erratic…He’s my freakin’ boyfriend so please save him!”

  “And my best friend,” Gabriel added.

  “No pressure there,” the black-haired doctor said wryly. And then, “We’ll do what we can.”

  Two more doctors appeared on either side of her and began setting up equipment, removing Sampson’s armor and clothing, and securing various suction-like probes to his chest. One of them turned to Gabriel and said, “You have to go. You both do.”

  Gabriel took one last look at his friend. Despite his solid frame, he looked weak, exposed, like he was already dead. His face was even paler white than normal and his skin was glistening with bright, white blood. Because Sampson’s eyes were closed, Gabriel tried to make himself believe that he was only sleeping, and not in critical condition, on the verge of death.

  Kiren appeared to be in shock, her face bland and emotionless. She allowed Gabriel to take her hand and lead her from the room. In the hall, Gabriel pulled Kiren over to a row of chairs and helped her sit down. He slumped down next to her. Lifting her head, a single tear stained Kiren’s face; it dangled precariously on her chin after having meandered down her cheek. “How did this happen?” she asked.

  “We underestimated Dionysus’s desire for retribution,” Gabriel said.

  “We should have known…”

  “Yes.”

  The tear drop released itself from her chin.

  They sat in silence for what felt like a few minutes, watching the nurses and doctors rushing around the hospital trying to save the dying angels. Gabriel’s eyes wandered to his watch. “Damn,” he said when he realized that over an hour had passed since the attack.

  Chapter Five

  The boy sat in silence, meditating. From afar, he could’ve been mistaken for his brother, Gabriel, only younger, with wavy, sandy blond hair, a wide, firm, kingly chin, and a physique that was fast developing into that of a soldier, strong and tight. The meditation was part of his training, but he didn’t mind. Since his family had been abducted on the Warrior’s Plateau and his filthy traitor brother had escaped unscathed, he had been spending more and more time wrapped up in his own head trying to make sense of the senseless.

  Why had Gabriel betrayed his own kind? Why did his parents seem to agree with it? Why had the human girl killed the Archangels? There was only one answer that made sense—the same answer he had gotten from Dionysus: They were Traitors, Demon-Lovers, modern day Judas’s.

  The more he thought about it all, the angrier he became. Rage filled him, causing his fingers to tremble until he pulled them into tight fists. Sometimes he kept his hands balled for hours until they ached from the pressure. It hurt, but helped to douse the fires raging within him. It also helped to clear his mind. He had learned this technique from his master, Lucas, who had instructed him: “David, pain can be either a positive or a negative event, depending on how you use it.” David Knight had always thought that pain was negative, to be avoided. And it was, for most angels. Most angels focused on the pain, rather than letting the pain focus them. Now, he used pain to his advantage, just like Lucas had taught him. His mind was clear.

  He had tried to help his brother, to talk to him, to make him see the truth, but he was too far gone. Now David had only one choice to make things right, to fulfill his destiny. He had to kill Gabriel. And he would.

  Chapter Six

  Grudgingly, Taylor walked back to her dormitory. As a first year student, she was required to live in the freshman dorms—hers was called Shyloh Hall. As she approached the nondescript building, she had her student ID card in her hand. Reaching the security door, she robotically swiped her ID through the card reader. Her mind was elsewhere.

  Something bad had happened—that much she knew. Selfishly, she hoped nothing had happened to Gabriel. He could be dead; or worse, captured by Dionysus. The knot in her stomach tightened at the thought. Gritting her teeth, she pushed through the door and took the stairs to the seventh floor—the elevator was broken as usual.

  The trek up seven flights of stairs didn’t bother her. Not anymore. Earlier in the semester she would have been winded, huffing and puffing and on the verge of collapse. Now she felt energetic at the top, ready to climb another seven floors. For a moment the exhilaration of the physical activity swept aside her fears about Gabriel. She opened her dorm room door, number 715—it wasn’t locked.

  “Hey, Tay,” she was greeted as she walked in.

  At first she couldn’t see her roommate, although her voice seemed to come from the shadowy figure lying on the bed. “Hi, Taylor,” a deeper voice said. The demon is here, Taylor thought.

  Without speaking, Taylor outstretched her arm and performed a basic angel skill, the only one she had really mastered: flashlight. A strong beam of light shone from her hand, piercing the shroud of darkness around Samantha’s bed.

  As usual, Christopher Lyon was smiling from ear to ear. His tanned, muscular body was naked from the waist up. He wore a short, dark, well-trimmed beard that accentuated his black eyes, giving him a ruggedly handsome look that most girls would go crazy for.

  Behind him, she could barely see a shock of blond hair: Samantha.

  Chris kicked his legs off the bed and sat up, allowing Taylor’s best friend to do the same. Typically, Samantha Collins looked beautiful. Whether she was dressed to the nine’s or garbed in her “bumming clothes”—shorts and a tank top—as she was now, Sam was a classic beauty. Her long, toned legs seemed to extend a mile to the floor, and Taylor could almost believe that the term hourglass had been named after her friend. Even though she had clearly been lying on the bed, likely making out with Chris, her long, silky hair still seemed to fall perfectly across her shoulders. Her casual but dazzling smile revealed two rows of straight, white teeth. Looking at the couple, Taylor’s breath caught for a second, in awe of their perfection. Her awe didn’t last long though.

  “Why don’t you two get a room?” Taylor said sarcastically.

  Chris laughed. “Nice to see you, too. And perhaps you should knock.”

  “It’s my room, lover boy.” Taylor liked Chris and was very happy Sam was dating him. He was funny, nice, and easy on the eyes. Finally her friend had found a boyfriend that lasted more than two weeks. Dating back to pre-high school, Sam had gone out with dozens of guys, most of them jerks. She usually didn’t have the best taste in men. But Chris was great.

  “Good point,” Chris said. “Where’s Gabriel?”

  Abruptly, Taylor remembered why she had returned to the room. “I was going to ask you the same thing. Have you heard from him?”

  Chris s
aid, “No. Wasn’t he supposed to meet you?”

  “He didn’t show. So you haven’t received any calls?”

  “Well, uh…I kind of turned my phone off…We were busy with something.”

  “Busy my ass. Turn your phone back on. I have a bad feeling.”

  Obediently, Chris fished his phone out of his pocket. Sam said, “Are you sure you got the meeting time right?” Taylor glared at her. “Okay, okay, I was just asking.”

  “Damn,” Chris said.

  “What?” Taylor asked.

  “Twenty-six missed calls…Mission leader, squad captain, central command…Nothing from Gabriel. No messages either.”

  Taylor’s face was emotionless. Just because he hadn’t called or shown up didn’t mean that something had happened to him. Just that something had happened. The twenty-six missed calls confirmed that fact.

  Chris pressed a button on his phone and then raised it to his ear. Before the call could be connected, two bodies crashed onto Taylor’s bed. Sam shrieked. As quickly as he had come, the darker of the two bodies disappeared, leaving only the blond-haired beauty.

  “I hate porting,” Gabriel said.

  Despite the casualness of his comment, Taylor instantly knew something was wrong. Typically her boyfriend was cool, calm, and collected. At the present, however, she wouldn’t use any of those C-words to describe him. Instead she might choose pale, tired, or even haggard. Regardless of what evil news he might be about to impart, Taylor couldn’t help but to feel a sense of relief upon seeing Gabriel alive and relatively well.

  Chris had removed the phone from his ear and was waiting expectantly. Even Sam was quiet for the moment, which was unusual for the girl who had been blessed with the gift of gab. Taylor went to Gabriel’s side and said, “What happened?”